


Lives Lived

by happywitch416



Series: Collection of Short [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Death from Old Age, F/M, just a quiet passing, no death on screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 12:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20135716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywitch416/pseuds/happywitch416
Summary: Because if you give me a prompt that I can make sad, I will. Sure, I could have written about missing socks but NO.





	Lives Lived

It didn't feel real, Rose thought. It was only real when she was sad and she was only sad when she remembered. Shuffling into their home office with two cups of tea. The creak in her bones that worsened with cold, and how no matter how far she rolled in their bed she never found his warmth. All those moments right before remembering he wasn't there anymore. 

She made her way to the mausoleum tucked away in a nook off the gardens. She traced her fingers along the chiseled stone image of his face. The face was Varric's but not quite. His face had never been this serene in life. It had been too full of life. The simple circlet adorned his brow, Kirkwall remembering him as their viscount even in death. After they had retired from political life to enjoy old age in their empty Hightown mansion. They had traded it for something smaller not long after, the empty rooms to big and barren with their children and grandchildren nearby and abroad. They had moved in with Mirra, not far from the hospital she worked at. Rose had been more than grateful for their daughter’s profession as they aged not so gracefully. When Varric had fallen ill last winter, quietly succumbing to the afterlife in his sleep while they had slept in the chairs next to him, the rest of the family scattered about Mirra's cottage.

The children and grandchildren were gone now. Rose had used the time they spent there reading to the young ones until she was hoarse. Every story that Papa had ever written and some of Bee's too. It never felt real, like his words kept him there, like she'd look up and see him smiling back at her once again.

Tears fell against her hands, wrapped in his stone ones, thumb rubbing against the wedding band the carver had worked on his stone finger just as she had in life. Her hands were wrinkled, sunspots dark on her skin, age spots growing with every passing day. "I miss you, storyteller." 

The fall wind blew rattling the leaves from their summer perches. "But I’ll see you soon."


End file.
